


Detour from the Good Fight

by lechiffre



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Choking, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, Incest, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechiffre/pseuds/lechiffre
Summary: "You don’t have to care. It's not like we'll make a habit out of this. I don't need your backstory to fuck you." Genji spreads his legs at his own cue, hopes his erection shows. Hanzo's gaze drops down. "Just two strangers. Can you make do with that?"
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Detour from the Good Fight

**Author's Note:**

> When I started this fic, I was still preparing for my Bachelor's exam, some three years ago. I've mostly fallen out of love with Overwatch since then due to its patchy writing, build-a-barrier mechanics and league obsession. "Shimadrama" is all I still care about and the reason I got into the fandom in the first place.
> 
> Anyway, mid 2017 was the time of Sentai Genji, which yielded some damn good identity porn fics. Being the cyborg Genji agenda pusher that I am, I thought about a different Shimada reunion, one where Genji isn't as straightforward as he is in "Dragons". That's the premise of my story.
> 
> **Warnings:** dubcon; There is no coercion of any kind, but Hanzo loves his alcohol and Genji is in a bad mental spot (maybe even having a manic episode). While it could pass for consensual, the sex depicted here is definitely not safe and/or sane. Watch out for suicide ideation, mentions of violence and unhealthy coping mechanisms as well. I went for something darker than my previous work.

Going out without a body count to show for it is not Genji's style. He perches himself on the railing to survey the last of the goods being carried off from the cargo boat. Truth be told, after keeping his eyes on the same boxes for about twenty hours at sea, he is more interested in the blue, pink, red and yellow reflections of the hard line buildings that impose on the shoreline. Front flipping into the night, Genji taps his helmet to reactivate the HUD coordinates to the loose slab cache where he means to stash his swords.

The mission was simple: escort an experimental energy source from Hamburg to Rotterdam. While its obtaining was kept under wraps and several other decoy routes were designed, no one is taking risks with Talon's recent spike in activity. Just another odd paid job that post-Recall Overwatch members must pull until the seniors (who would hardly appreciate being called that) gain them UN credibility and funding. Emphasis on the latter. However, despite the desperate times, their measures aren't so desperate such as to tax for imminent international threats. Winston has devised a prediction algorithm to curb their greediness.

Captain Amari— No, force of habit. _Miss_ Amari, who had just reported from her stakeout in Bruges, was supposed to act as babysitter to the babysitter, but since Genji can run on walls, land a shuriken headshot from fifty metres and all that, the team conceded that he would manage alone. With Miss Amari, no matter how simple the mission, by the end of it, Genji's ass is always a pincushion full of biotic darts. Angela is just as fussy, but at least her Caduceus Staff is nowhere near as invasive.

He is aware that neither his mother hen co-workers nor anyone is actually at fault. He just _wants_ to be alone here and now. Their schedules have finally matched. He feels like he could meet his brother without the urge to kill him on sight.

He has to approach Hanzo on his own terms before the fate of the world will require him to attempt a recruitment. For all the calm his master has instilled in him, forgiveness is not so easy. A stray demon still whispers in his ear. He may no longer believe in the talion of his traditional family, but Hanzo's self-punishment is not enough. Genji has more than earned the right to be a little mean, a little cruel. He means to toy with Hanzo, not kill him.

Reyes understood Genji's needs. His new body was performing so well under Blackwatch partly because of the reward system his commander built out of blurry photos and surveillance footage of his brother. The whereabouts were given only when it was too late for reckless action. Genji was saving Hanzo for last anyway. His fits of rage, even the occasional panic attacks he was subjecting himself to willingly, got better as he observed in real time the wreck his proud older brother was becoming.

Later, after his superiors no longer judged him a hazard, he benefited from a global organisation's worth of digital intelligence. While Hanzo disguised some of his movements under lesser false identities, he could never hide from his brother.

Genji put up with the UN investigations, but resigned before the watchdog journalists could sniff at him. Besides, he was disturbed by the way they all reached out, tried to touch him, the… humans. He was starting to think of himself as something different, an abomination that did not belong. No wonder he couldn't read the signs of interest from Jesse. He was so shocked when the cowboy climbed into his lap that he almost tore his arm out of its socket.

That made his decision for him. He didn't even have the courage to face Reyes, just typed a hasty email, squeezing in standard phrasings so that it passed as formal enough for the files. He didn't really have a plan; keep to the fringes of society, maybe return the favour to his brother. He still doesn't know if he should be relieved he wasn't there for the explosion.

Genji thinks he wouldn't have accepted help from anyone else but Zenyatta in those years. The quirky omnic monk found him in a state where he abandoned almost all ties to the man he was. Zenyatta pestered and pestered until Genji snapped and got his ass handed to him in return. He was so impressed that he asked for an apprenticeship.

He gave up on his Hanzo obsession during his stay with the Shambali and his voluntary exile following his master's. Zenyatta advised that certain things are better left to cool down so they can settle into a new perspective. Genji didn't dare to fool himself that it would be anything but a temporary measure.

Winston's promise of full access to Overwatch's resources to all members, new and old, who answered the Recall encouraged Genji to take up his (acknowledged) stalking again. The AI was a nice addition. Athena came with a highly interactive and customisable interface. Now, thanks to the disembodied lady, whenever Hanzo checks in somewhere or makes a purchase, Genji gets a notification on his phone.

He knows that Hanzo's plane from Sankt Petersburg touched down about two hours ahead of the mission boat's making port. Hanzo also used his real name account to withdraw money at an ATM close to Erasmus Bridge half an hour ago. Genji may have missed him, but someone who dresses as anachronistically as his brother will not go unnoticed. He asks around until a biker gang points him to a _Gesellig_ neon sign flashing just beneath the street level—trust Hanzo to prioritise his alcohol intake.

At the foot of the stairs, a chalkboard stand advertises an "Omnic Night for celebrating differences" in curly calligraphy and several languages. Genji draws the bouncer's attention to ask about the entry charge.

An accent more cut-glass than Lena's tumbles out of the man's mouth. "No fee for you, just go in. Omnics are the entertainment tonight."

Genji almost corrects him—would have bristled in the past—then realises that he's spared from lengthy and painful to revisit explanations this way. Hanzo will no doubt make the same mistake. Genji is ready to turn assumptions into his cover story. "That sounds mildly offensive, but thank you."

He reels at the brick walls and dark wood retro atmosphere of the last century. All across the ceiling, speakers fashioned to look like blocky radios gurgle music at a pitch lowered so that no one has to yell to hold a conversation, but clear enough to encourage some to sway on the dance floor. The keen of the guitar and drums combo seesaws between arousal and depression, while the crooning vocals have the potential to intoxicate more than the available beverages. Humans and omnics mingle with each other and with the warm lights like shimmery mirages. Genji feels caressed by stares from both categories of patrons. It suddenly becomes obvious what goes on behind the curtained alcoves.

Compared to the real omnics, Genji must seem a new and rare model, an exotic specimen. He hasn't reached the confidence of his youth yet, and probably never will, but he can play the role of seducer for the limited number of persons with a kink for mechanical parts. He brushes the inside of a wrist, twirls at someone's request. A male omnic decked in shiny chrome and skimpy leather shorts presses against Genji, bringing with him quite a harem; the humans to omnics ratio is somewhere around three to one. From up close, Genji takes in the swirly decorations on his partner's beaked ivory faceplate. They are begged for a photo together.

As he poses—one metal hand of the omnic stranger sliding presumptuously low—Genji has the time to wonder what this choice in establishment says about his brother. Hanzo surely couldn't have harboured such scandalous inclinations. The Hanzo he remembers was too boring for that. He most likely just entered the closest and least obnoxious place that would supply him with alcohol for the night, tolerating whatever his company did for entertainment. Except…

Except that if Genji were still mostly covered by skin, it would have prickled under the interest of this figure at the bar, easy to spot by his slouching under the weight of his many sins. Hanzo found him first in a way.

Genji excuses himself from the crowd and ducks around eager bodies to his set destination. He chuckles at the empty seats on either side of his brother. Well, Genji has never indulged nor been intimidated by his prickly nature. He hops onto the tall chair sideways to get across his staring better. If the blatant disregard for privacy didn't trigger a response, Hanzo will definitely crack under the scrutiny.

His brother downs the last drops in his glass, then does a pretty good statue impersonation for over a minute, shoulders around his ears. Reaching for the decanter must be indeed a social chore, fixed like it is there on the counter, on Hanzo's left, closer to Genji and alluring with its half full capacity of shimmery bourbon. Genji waits for the exact moment Hanzo gives in, annoyed tut included, before he snatches the decanter himself.

Hanzo covers the glass with his palm. "I can pour my own drink!"

"Heh. For someone who was making heart eyes at me from across the room, you sure have a funny way of showing your interest. You're not gonna score like that." The temptation to taunt Hanzo in Japanese is almost too great. While it's not unusual for omnics to be equipped with multiple language modules, Genji feels that such a gamble would nip his ruse in the bud. He focuses on schooling his accent as best as he can.

Hanzo's tan does very little to disguise his blush. "I wasn't—" The spluttering indicates that he treated himself to a couple glasses before he gave up and just ordered the entire decanter. "And I don't go around… looking to 'score.'"

"Yeah, I bet you're not even really trying before they come to you," Genji says, a little rueful. How very like the old, vain Genji to put aside Hanzo's many faults for the saving grace of his appearance. Grief suits Hanzo like it does widows from the Hollywood golden age. As soon as he thinks it, the comparison strikes Genji as utterly silly. He still holds fondness for Hanzo's androgynous beauty from their teenage years, but the man sitting next to him now would rather inspire the paragon of virility fit to be on the cover of the umpteenth edition of _Hagakure_ with his square jaw, strong nose, wisps of white at the temples and eyes that have seen too much. And his beard. Gods be damned. That scruff elevates Hanzo's rugged outlaw persona. Genji has to squeeze his legs together against his growing excitement. He can't tell whether he'll wrap his hand around his brother's cock or neck tonight. "Personally, it was impossible to resist your siren call of social awkwardness."

Hanzo bites his lip to stop a reluctant smile. "Very well. Now, can I have my drink back?"

"On one condition. Pretend to enjoy my company for a while. Before you know it, it’s going to be the real deal."

Hanzo slides his glass towards Genji as if this scenario were his intention from the beginning: the Shimada lord allowing the service of a stranger. "Where I grew up, it is customary to introduce yourself before initiating a conversation."

To his credit, or rather that of the circuitry in his arm, Genji's grip on the decanter doesn't shake. He sets it back on the counter with the softest thump. He didn't anticipate this pesky detail bothering him so much. "We seem to have different notions of politeness. If you ask for a name, you have to give yours first."

"And here we agreed I was the coy one," Hanzo counters, turning so they are facing each other.

"Okay, but I am hardly conventional. All I have is this serial number right here," Genji says, pointing to the plate covering his left pec. "Twenty-five. My maker and my handler both tried to own me, so I believe you understand why the names they chose for me didn't take." Apparently, he still holds a great deal of bitterness to come up with such a half truth. "Can't say I blame them. Who wouldn't want to own _this?_ " he hurries to add, gesturing at himself. Mood saved.

"I didn't mean to—"

"You don’t have to care. It's not like we'll make a habit out of this. I don't need your backstory to fuck you." Genji spreads his legs at his own cue, hopes his erection shows. Hanzo's gaze drops down. "Just two strangers. Can you make do with that?"

Genji pays more attention to his brother's frown than the pressure on his shoulder. When he turns his head, the first thing that catches his eye is the glare of a diamond-encrusted wristwatch that he connects to the smartly dressed man looking down at him. No, wait. Smartly dressed is an understatement. The guy is wearing a three-piece suit in a club. And he seems adamant on keeping his jacket on despite the sweat dotting his forehead and sticking his shirt to his chest. There's a young woman close in age clinging to the intruder's arm. They couldn't make a more mismatched couple; it's jarring to see her ripped jeans and garish yellow blouse next to the dark linen of his suit.

"Hi there. I'm Anthony and this is my wife, Mara, who thinks you're hot," Mr CEO says just under the thrum of the music.

Despite the delicate sensors of his new artificial eardrums, Genji leans over out of habit. Probably a calculated move on the man's part. "Why can't your wife tell me that herself?"

Anthony smirks. "She's incredibly shy in social situations."

Genji finds that a bit hard to believe. When he checks on Mara, the sunglasses that are the exact shade of pink as her trainers (and a sensible accessory for indoors at night) have been pushed on the top of her head, her eyes assessing his body so hungrily that Genji fears for his soul.

"Seeing as your partner of conversation here is uninterested," Anthony continues, wrinkling his nose at Hanzo, "why don't you join us to our limo? That new upholstery is in dire need of a christening."

Were he still the Shimada spoiled son, that offer would have led to a sure conclusion. As it is, he thought the days of those offers were behind him, so he cannot help the brief mental images of him and the wife working together to hammer away at Anthony's controlled façade. However, his goal for tonight has been set months in advance and even the Genji of old prioritised Hanzo's company over everything else. He opens his mouth to tell his distractions off, but Hanzo beats him to it.

"Who said I wasn't interested?" Hanzo punctuates his claim by interlocking their hands high on Genji's thigh.

"Listen, buddy. I noticed you since you first walked in here. The only thing that's gonna fill you tonight is another—"

Mara puts her palm over Anthony's heart, pushing him back. She leans up to whisper against the side of his face in a way that makes it impossible to catch any sounds or read her lips. A parting peck under Anthony's jaw has the fight draining out him completely. Satisfied, Mara drapes his arm over her shoulders.

"My apologies, we're usually more graceful losers than that," Mara says out loud as she steers her husband away. "Have fun, you two. Try not to kill each other."

Genji is so surprised by her word choice that he throws his head back and laughs. He muffles what might be either a snort or a sob. He didn't think these eyes could cry, but he feels damp trails on his cheeks. He should have entrusted someone with his real plans for today before trying exposure therapy on his own. Fuck that woman. Fuck his brother. He's losing it. For real this time.

His helmet starts releasing rhythmical beeps only he can hear to help him regulate his breathing. The hand in his squeezes once, twice, thrice in a similar tempo. Genji focuses on gently squeezing back.

"Sorry," Genji says once he trusts his voice again. "I didn't scare you off, did I?"

"You have a pretty laugh," Hanzo blurts out, then takes a mouthful of melted ice and bourbon. He refills his glass.

Genji doesn't know how much time his episode has cost him, but now he can make an educated guess towards five minutes at most. To laugh beyond that would be considered weird and unattractive. Since Hanzo's impromptu compliment almost sends him down another spiral, he ignores it for both their sakes. "I can't ruin the joke for you. Trust me, the punchline will come to you later." He stands up and pulls Hanzo with him. "After all, I intend to make this a night to remember."

Hanzo clings to the bar for as long as it takes him to gulp down his neat serving of bourbon before he follows Genji. The fact that he doesn't even sway reinforces his alcohol resistance. If Genji doesn't decide Hanzo's fate soon, his brother's liver will make the decision for him. This Hanzo could drink even playboy Genji under the table.

They have both turned into their cheapest replicas with a meaningless source. Scion Hanzo never went to a club for drinks and a one night stand on his own initiative. It took Genji wobbling home supported by one of their guards, smelling like a perfume sampler and covered in hickeys, bite marks and scratches. Hanzo hid Genji in his own room and cared for him all the way to the vomity aftermath.

Sometimes Genji played the slut because he could, but most times he did it to get Hanzo's attention. He let Hanzo think his company was a punishment whenever he got worried enough to escort Genji to the pleasure quarters himself. He always goaded his big brother into having fun, but like a true Shimada, he rationed his freedom. Genji would have cut open any stranger who dared to get too close to Hanzo. The hypocrisy is not lost on him. He drafts a clause to that rule for himself, the most dangerous stranger of them all.

The alcoves that caught Genji's eyes earlier are straight to the point; a round chaise lounge takes up most of the black and white checkerboard floor. The only mildly opulent thing in the room is a coffee table with a glimmering, golden mosaic top. Since the faux leather of the chaise lounge is already sticky, Genji supposes the management furnished with cleaning convenience in mind. He instructs Hanzo to lie down while he closes the champagne-coloured curtains. In this small enclosure, Genji can believe that the two of them exist on a different level from the rest of the world. Like they used to.

His senses heighten to those of a predator within pouncing distance. He feels his thighs rubbing together and his cock dragging against the codpiece for the few steps it takes to reach Hanzo. His brother welcoming him in between his legs makes him hard so fast that he almost drops his entire weight on him. Hanzo cages him in, legs slipping from titanium plating and hands squeezing Genji's buttocks to drag him closer.

Genji moves his hips a little to the left, which slots their erections together. He's embarrassed by how wound up he gets just from rutting while fully clothed (or barely covered by an armoured thong). Genji matches every wrecked sound coming out of Hanzo's throat with hot pants that fog up his visor. His unfulfilled cock almost buys into the mock penetration. Now that the thought has entered his mind, Genji is tempted by the poetic justice of sheathing himself inside Hanzo after all these years.

Next to them, the table top drawer which must house condoms, lube and toys pops out like a sign from above. Genji stops thrusting and grips Hanzo's hipbone to subdue him as well. His brother's legs are still wide open, the lower half of his body propped on Genji's lap. He cups the erection outlining Hanzo's _hakama_. To his surprise, the artificial nerve endings in his hand relay how the cock stiffens further under his care. State of the art technology and Genji is using it to _feel_ his brother's manhood throb from a couple of pumping motions.

The only indulgence Hanzo gets tonight is when he glares wet-eyed at Genji; his cock must be chafing at this point under too many layers of cloth. His hakama and underwear come off at the same time, but the kimono stays on. Genji's sex life can be summed up as heated encounters that prioritised quick gratification over undressing. He is hard-wired to find Hanzo's chest heaving above his constricting _obi_ much more erotic than if he were completely nude. The one sleeve Hanzo is using properly has slid down to reveal both of his bulging pecs and the trickle of sweat running down between them. Genji presses two fingertips against Hanzo's right nipple until his entire chest is covered in gooseflesh. After tending to his brother's tits, Genji moves his attention lower.

Hanzo's thick and rosy cock arches towards his belly, where it paints slick patterns in precome. Genji reaches down with a single finger to trace the long vein jutting out on the underside of the shaft and just from that, the tip spurts out more clear fluid. Genji coats his hand with it before he closes his fist around the cock, trying out simple up and down strokes. His polycarbonate joints stagger instead of gliding while his brother is no closer to reaching his full grower potential. Even though Genji's killing machine days are behind him, it doesn't change the fact that his hands are more suited for parting limbs from bodies than delicate tasks like this. He reconsiders the drawer.

Keeping his eyes and one hand on Hanzo, Genji grabs a black lube bottle that feels like it's mostly full. He expected the colourless and odourless contents, but as he rubs his fingers together, he understands why this bottle is as good as new. Genji checks the back label just in case his sensors are acting up. Yep. The tiny font advertises the most intense level of heat.

A decent human being shouldn't guess personal boundaries. Luckily, Genji was never decent and now, he is not even human. Besides, one wouldn't need more than Hanzo's wanted file to figure out that he is a masochist through and through.

Hanzo hisses at the new warm sensation. That's the only sign of discomfort as Genji eases him into it. The silicone base helps Genji with the ample strokes and after spreading the lube all over his brother's cock, he gains more confidence in his touches. A twist of his wrist has Hanzo's hips jerking upwards. Genji rubs his ballsack with the heel of his hand, extends his fingers as far as they can go to press against the frenulum. He doesn't give Hanzo time to accommodate to any stimulus. His cock gets impossibly redder, either from the warming lube or more blood rushing into it. When Hanzo sobs from deep in his chest, Genji gives him a little respite, enveloping his length and watching transfixed how the shiny tip peeks out of his fist on the downstroke.

He dares to take his hand lower, skimming over the perineum, until his thumb is circling Hanzo's asshole. This sets off Hanzo's wariness, his head lifted to study Genji, his breathing controlled. He inhales through his nose as Genji pierces him to the first knuckle, both of them at a standstill. Genji pulls his thumb out only on the exhale. He massages the delicate skin behind his brother's balls, swipes his finger up and down his tight hole. They don't break each other's gaze even as Genji breaches Hanzo again.

"Get on with it already," Hanzo says through gritted teeth.

Genji raises his left hand to shush Hanzo and coax his head back onto the bedding. His asshole flutters around the thumb thrusting in and out. Genji is reminded of his own aching cock.

He can't. Even if he could distract Hanzo from glimpsing his very human cock on what he mistook for an omnic, fucking goes both ways. He doesn't want to give Hanzo anything of himself anymore. From now on, it's all about the taking.

"Do you mind if I jerk you off first?" Genji asks. "I want to try something." His hand slides from cradling Hanzo's jaw to his windpipe. "May I?"

Hanzo's throat works as he chokes on words. More seconds trickle over ten years of patience and finally, Hanzo nods instead. Genji squeezes.

Before he truly applied himself to meditation, Genji was so desperate to kill time that he flicked through every ebook, soft cover and scroll in the Shambali library. The squeaky floorboards and light filtering shouji doors soothed his mind better than the crowded gardens favoured by his master. He liked best the smell of ink drying on bamboo paper.

Reviving the art of copying wasn't even the strangest idea that Mondatta proposed during breakfast. He encouraged everyone to pick up quill and gold pigment. Some found their calling in the noble preservation of ancient knowledge, while some treated the endeavour like adult colouring books on hard mode. Genji couldn't be bothered with such meticulous work, but that didn't stop him from sticking his nose into the efforts of his hosts. That was how he chanced upon a _shunga_ featuring monks.

Most of the manuscript was taken up by a drawing of the most disproportionately large cock that Genji had ever seen (including all the bad _hentai_ he played in his teens) and what appeared to be a spirit inside the woman's belly, but Genji caught the gist of the story. Those dispossessed by some great war came from all corners of the earth to meet their loved ones again on holy grounds. Monks in scarlet robes bruised the necks of their supplicants while buried in between their legs so that the monk's face would turn into the dead lover's at the peak of their coupling.

Because Genji borrowed the manuscript from a lectern, not a designated shelf, he couldn't know if what he just read was an anecdote or the outlet for a monk's sexual frustrations. He couldn't bring himself to ask either. Facing his master was a challenge he often skipped in the days that followed. The only way to check for truth was through practice. As transcendence evaded even the roughest use of his hands, it belatedly occurred to Genji that any attempt was doomed from the start. Hanzo was never a ghost to him.

The shape of his name on Hanzo's lips pulls him back to the present. At least, he hopes he saw that right. His HUD is flooded by flashing red lights, torn between his own increased heart rate and how close he is to snapping Hanzo's hyoid bone. Genji spares some thoughts toward being annoyed with Angela—he told her to purge the red from his systems—and the four missed calls from Miss Amari.

He wills his left hand to hover long enough for Hanzo to catch his breath. He can make out the shape of his fingers around Hanzo's throat. His renewed grip presses on those marks as the hand on Hanzo's cock strokes hard and fast. Hanzo starts writhing before his eyes roll back into his head. For a moment, Genji thinks that he has killed him.

His wits return in time to help Hanzo through his orgasm. Thick ropes of come splatter over his already ruined kimono, but Genji milks Hanzo for all he's worth. He rolls the foreskin back on and massages the head through it, his chestplate catching the real money shot. Hanzo pries his hand away; the one on his cock, not the threat to his air supply. He is done ejaculating, but his whole body is wracked with aftershocks, spine raised arch of hysteria-like, limbs jerked by invisible demons.

Genji can only collapse next to Hanzo, spent now that he achieved his goal. Whatever that was. He feels empty because there is too much to feel. There isn't a name for all the little and big ways in which Hanzo continues to fuck him up. If Genji were stripped of the Blackwatch training and Shimada indoctrination, he would still end up a bad person. Hanzo is at the root of that evil. His pinned butterfly. His sexual perversion. His prussic acid in a jar.

To give credit to the failed parental figures in his life, his reflexes prove quicker than Hanzo's attempt to cup him through his codpiece. "Worry about yourself," Genji spits out.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hanzo asks, sitting up.

Genji retaliates by getting back on his feet. The few steps to the door are harder due to the pressure in his belly and crotch. "It means that I know about your pilgrimage every May, so you better fix your shit by then." He said too much, dished out too many dots for Hanzo to connect at leisure. "Don't follow me."

The main hall is more packed than when they slipped away to their nook. Stimulants of the worst kind must have been passed around. Although Genji preferred to numb the reality of his family by getting his dick wet, he is familiar with lack of coordination, chain-driven speech and blackout. Even the omnics seem affected. Genji heard of malware that muddles operating systems into a semblance of being under the influence, but this is his first time witnessing it.

Since he is trying to be considerate of these people, Genji lets himself get sucked by the current, pinballed closer to the exit. He is two thirds through when he jams into a busty omnic and four greasy-haired, shirtless dudes. All of them headbang to a piece of music whose dance style evades Genji. Now that he is focusing on it, he can feel the music thrumming through him in a way that has nothing to do with bass. Lucio once mentioned being commissioned for a loop that would scramble the brain's electrical signals, a new drug for a new age. It would explain how so many humans _and_ omnics can get high simultaneously. Genji's spiked outsole kisses someone—several someones—in a desperate bid to escape the close quarters, propriety be damned.

By the time he makes it outside, his erection is completely gone. He knows that the only things fucking with his head right now are his own emotions. A small part of him hopes that Hanzo won't heed his warning, while his feet have already started to put some distance between them. Hanzo was so rumpled when Genji left him that he will most likely wallow on that bed for the remainder of the night rather than part the sea of bodies in search for him. If Genji were in the same position… If he caught even an inkling of his brother after a decade… Therein lies Hanzo's problem: it's not about what he does, but what he doesn't do. Genji never questioned Hanzo's love for him; only love can sour into twenty-seven stab wounds. However, unlike Hanzo, he would have watched his brother bleed out as he held onto his own guts.

Genji retraces his steps to Erasmus Bridge, then climbs to the top of its pylon on autopilot. His systems helpfully display his most recent contact as he gives up on planning a route back to base.

"I was thirty minutes away from organising a search party," Miss Amari greets him through his helmet speakers.

Genji can hear seventy-two sleepless hours and obscene amounts of theine in her voice. He didn't think he could feel any shittier. "I'm sorry. The only highlight in my full mission report will be the second mate discovering a mussels allergy." His chuckle doesn't lift the tension. "I would have called you back sooner, but I slipped into one of my… moods."

Miss Amari stifles a swear word. "Any casualties?"

"What? No! Why would you jump to that—"

"According to my readings, you're calling me from a hundred and forty metres above the Meuse," she talks over Genji. "Granted, this neighbourhood's 5G only allows for triangulation and my remaining eye isn't what it used be."

"Hey, sharpshooter. Have a little faith in your skills and none in me," Genji says. "Nothing gives you more privacy than a steel perch on a bridge that sways in the wind."

"How the hell did you reach the top of Erasmus Bridge?"

"I climbed." In the ensuing silence, Genji's common sense catches up with him. "Shit. This isn't illegal, right? People have snapped selfies clinging to monuments before. Does it fall under vandalism?"

"The city council and I didn't even consider the possibility," she says in between laughs that are more breath than sound. This is his first time surprising Miss Amari. Under broken defences, their minds seem to settle on the same wavelength. "Why don't you talk to me about the view."

Genji seizes the grounding opener for what it is, rambling about taller architecture and dimmer stars, the burn in his muscles and the sweat on his scalp, dancing with strangers and touching without the intention to hurt. Normally, he wouldn't reveal so much of himself to someone who is twenty-five years his senior and has only professional distance left to give, but it also feels like Miss Amari is so jaded that she wouldn't judge him. He almost wants to tell her the whole story.

"Genji," she sighs, "what are you leaving out?"

**Author's Note:**

> This allowed me to experiment a bit with my style and I'm mostly pleased with the results. Sorry if it doesn't work for you.


End file.
